


A Poem

by princey_pie



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Warning for all poetry lovers, the tiniest bit of angst, this contains a poem written by me and i'm not a poet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 03:05:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16255388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princey_pie/pseuds/princey_pie
Summary: Patton finds a poem.





	A Poem

Patton loved sunday afternoons. He took a few hours every week for himself to look through some of the old stuff that appeared in the memory hall attached to his room. It was common knowledge that Thomas memories were stored there, at least everything that wasn't cataloged in Logan's library, but what nobody else knew was that the side's memories also appeared there.

Patton tried not to look through them though. It felt too much like an invasion of their privacy but sometimes things got messed up, for example Patton had read one of Roman's diary entries from 12 years ago that slipped between the ones from Thomas. Of course, he had stopped as soon as he noticed his mistake.

Currently he was roaming through some of Thomas old school work, group projects done with friends bringing forth memories of laughter quickly shushed by the librarian, old math worksheets causing the taste of ink on his tongue to spread from the constant pen biting and some literature essays filling the room with the sound of crumpled paper of yet another unfit idea, another unfinished thought. 

Then he found the poems. He still remembered that task from senior year: "Write a poem about a feeling you know well. Use a nature metaphor to express it like Goethe did." 

He read through the dozen of started poems, all started but barely any finished. And he did remember the anxiety Thomas had about the assignment, Virgil really was busy in high school. 

Patton smiled down at the loopy handwriting that looked so much like his own, flipping through the stack of papers and then stopped when he came about a different handwriting. It looked pretty controlled but at the same time like a quick try at calligraphy, a bit tilted to the side and varying in width, letters hurried together and small in size, as if afraid to take up place on the paper.

Patton did recognize the handwriting. It was the same as the one on the mysterious little notes that had appeared all over the house a few years ago. The post-it notes with encouraging words or little jokes that were left on every painting that Roman left in the commons to dry overnight, pinned to Logan's work whenever he left his computer on the coffee table to get another glass of water and placed on top of Patton's baked goods that cooled in the kitchen.

The others had always assumed that it was Patton who placed them, not giving it much thought. And Patton had never said anything, suspecting who might have been the real writer but having no way to confirm his theory. Not without possibly embarrassing the anxious side and making him withdraw himself even further. Quite the opposite of what Patton wanted to achieve at that time. 

But now the proof was right there, Virgil's initials signed at the bottom of the poem. Patton's eyes scanned again over the page.

 

I have white flames burning in my stomach  
I have dark storm clouds raging in my head  
Swirling and throwing darkness  
So I let their rain flow out my eyes  
Maybe it can extinguish the fire  
That's boiling me alive  
\- V.S.

 

Patton's heart ached at the thought of what the other had gone through to feel something so intense that he would overcome his anxiety to actually write his thoughts down. And still, it withheld a certain kind of beauty. It seemed like Virgil not only shared his name with the greek poet but also his talent.

Patton carefully placed the stack of papers back into their box. It was time to give his favorite shadowling a big hug, and a cookie or two couldn't hurt either.


End file.
